


A Willing Prize

by MerHums



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anal Sex, Bottom Mycroft, Consensual Underage Sex, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Masturbation, Pirates, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Protective Greg, Rough Sex, Top Greg Lestrade, Underage Sex, Virgin Mycroft, sherlock wants to be a pirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4033798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerHums/pseuds/MerHums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mycroft and Sherlock are torn away from their home by pirates, Mycroft is willing to do anything to protect his brother. But when they arrive at the hidden cove, things aren't a dire as they seem. Will Mycroft find a home here, despite the secrets from the past that have come to haunt them? And can Greg overcome his own ghosts, and see what Mycroft truly wants?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pirate King

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains nongraphic mentions of past childhood abuse and trauma. Mycroft also participates in consensual underage sex, though he is above the age of consent and is only two months away from eighteen.  
>    
> Ages  
> Greg: 27  
> Mycroft: 17  
> John: 14  
> Sherlock: 11

The town was in chaos, people running back and forth, pirates carrying away booty and prisoners. Mycroft had to drag his little brother away from staring at the pirates in rapt adoration. They’d already lost track of their parents in the chaos. Suddenly he turned a corner and found himself face to face with a handful of grinning pirates. He grabbed Sherlock to run, only to find himself caught. Sherlock kicked at the pirate, but that only resulted in being snatched up himself.

“Well, we’ve got a pretty one here,” growled one of the pirates, looking Mycroft up and down. Mycroft’s heart thudded heavily in his chest.

"Think we should bring 'em home?" the one holding Sherlock sneered. "Bet the King would like that one, you know how he is with redheads. Might even take the little one, train him up to be a pirate." 

"Yeah. And he's good insurance. Look to be brothers."

"Perfect,” growled the man. “Let’s go, ships leaving.” 

**

Greg stood at the window, curtains blowing back. Storm was coming in, if the sky and the far off whitecaps to the east were anything to judge by. If the raid had gone well, the ships would be back in time to seek port before it hit. If not, well, his men weren’t fools. They’d either die, or figure out a way to safety. He glanced down, seeing a set of white sails come into the harbor. Looked like the first ships were already on their way back. He let out a piercing whistle, holding up his forearm. Merida swooped down, talons digging into the long black glove he wore. Stroking her head, he led her to the supports nailed into the wall, tossing her a mouse on his way out the door. He’d likely have a group seeking his favour with ill begotten goods as soon as the ship was unloaded. 

**

Mycroft was scared but doing his best not to show it as he and Sherlock were hauled off the ship. They were chained together, but he was carrying his little brother; he'd been seasick for half the journey here. 

"Maybe he won't make a pirate," mused one as they plodded their way towards the old castle at the heart of the hidden port. 

"Everyone gets sick their first trip," said another. 

Mycroft looked around as they walked. The port was built haphazardly, with many of the buildings looking like repurposed parts of ships, or old stone that must have come from somewhere else on the island. Great docks filled the sheltered harbor and even as they were pushed along he could see that most of the people they passed looked better fed than the poor in their colony.

“Mycroft, put me down,” Sherlock grumbled. “I’m fine now.” 

Carefully, he set Sherlock down, but held his hand, chains rattling as they walked.

“They said they were taking us to the king?” Sherlock whispered as they came upon a large building. “They said that he would make me a pirate, do you think they were lying?” 

“I don’t know. They could do that. Just… Sherlock no matter what happens...I’ll do everything I can to watch out for you.”

“Pf, they’re pirates, My. I’m gonna blend right in.” 

**

Greg sat on his throne, a large plush velvet thing, stolen from royalty ages ago. The heel of his boot tapped against the stone floor, as he cleaned his nails with a sharp, twisted dagger, waiting for whatever fools were arguing outside the throne room to stop and come in. 

“I found him, I get to present him.”

“The hell you do, I’m the one who had to carry this little bugger all the way to the ship! He bites, and the other one wouldn’t come easy without him.”

“You both are fools. Knock it off. Now, what the hell are you doing with these two?” 

Greg looked up at the voice. John was out there, and by the sounds of it, he’d just clunked the pirates heads together. Greg grinned, stabbing the blade into the chair and sitting up as the door opened. 

Mycroft caught glimpse of the throne. (How did pirates get a throne?) and then the man sitting on it. His hair was silver, but he was relatively young, maybe something around a decade older than himself. He carried himself with the sort of confidence that was won by battles and hard choices, but there was something in his eyes as well. Just as Mycroft met his gaze, he and Sherlock were pushed to their knees in front of him.

“What’s this then?” Greg asked, eyes examining the two boys pushed in front of him. One was younger, looked excited. The other, less, but those blue eyes were sharp, perhaps with fear. Greg looked away, glaring at the pirates. “I thought we’d stopped taking children from their homes.” 

“They were on the streets when we found ‘em sir. And your enjoyment of redheads is known.”

“My enjoyment of redheads doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Greg growled, picking up the knife. “What did you expect from me, aye? Just take him into my chambers, maybe bring the other one to watch?” He spun the blade between his fingers, leveling a glare at the man. “John,” he said suddenly, looking away. “Come here.” 

“Yes sir,” he said stepping into the room and giving a little bow. Mycroft was surprised, he wasn’t much older than Sherlock, but obviously carried some responsibility.

“Take the younger one with you. Get him food, water. Check him over, make sure he hasn’t been hurt.” Greg gestured to the door with his chin. “If he has…..” He let the thought hang, knowing that an undefined threat was worse to the men than a proper one. 

“Yes, sir.” He stepped forward, taking the key and freeing the curly haired boy from his shackles. “This way.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft, torn between obeying and going, or staying with his brother. 

“Go with John, lad. No harm will come to you or your brother.” Greg growled, and Sherlock jumped, moving away with John. Greg waited until the pair had left the room before taking up his knife and sauntering down off the throne. “Now, what am I going to do with you two,” he said dangerously. “You don’t listen. Adults, fine, take them, put them to work. But you know children are meant to be left alone.” He raised his eyebrows, tilting his head as he tapped his boot on the floor. “Explain yourselves. Properly this time, or was the only reason you brought him here because you thought I might want to bed the boy?” 

“He’s nearly grown,” said the one. “But… yes, sir. And he wouldn’t come without the little one.”

“Is it that he wouldn’t come, or is it that the younger one was an easy way to get him to behave?” Greg growled. “Get out of my sight, you’ve done enough.” He spat, shoving the man away. “Nearly grown or not, he’s a child until he’s of age. You’d do well to learn that, fool.” He watched as the pirates hurried away, glad not to be getting further punishment. With a sigh, he moved back, sitting down on the throne again, and returning to cleaning his nails. He glanced up to see the boy staring at the ground. “You may speak, you know.” 

Mycroft cleared his throat. “I have other skills you may find useful, sir. I can read and write several languages.”

“Good, you can talk. I was worried they’d taken your tongue,” Greg said flippantly. “Oh.” He moved from his seat, unchaining Mycroft and returning. “Better, yeah? Now-” He was interrupted by a roll of thunder as the skies opened, lightning flashing in the window. 

Mycroft looked out the window, seeing the the gathering clouds. “Heavy storm, sir.”

“Aye,” Greg nodded. “You don’t have to stay on the ground, lad. You can stand. Now, the other one. Your brother? I did just assume.” 

Mycroft got slowly to his feet. “Yes sir. Sherlock. I’m Mycroft. Holmes.”

“Right. I’m Greg. Lestrade. Also known as the king. This is my kingdom,” he said, extending his arms. “And apparently, you’ll be joining us. Stay indefinite.” 

“You take care of your people, sir.”

“I’m king. What else would I do? Rule over skeletons and gravestones?” Greg grinned, beckoning Mycroft forward. “Come here.” 

Mycroft swallowed and stepped forward, lowering his gaze again.

Greg stood, and reached a hand out, tipping Mycroft’s head to the side. “You’ve got a nasty cut there. Let’s get that taken care of.” 

“It was a bit chaotic in the attack.”

“We’re pirates. What did you expect?” Greg asked, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him through the palace. A few people made to catch his eye knowingly as they headed to his rooms, but he ignored them, unlocking the door and pushing Mycroft into his suite.

Mycroft swallowed as he found himself in Greg’s chambers. “I’ll be happy to serve you, sir.”

Greg paused. “Serve me? That won’t be happening. Sit.” He pushed Mycroft to the edge of the bed and moved through the doorway to a connected room. 

Mycroft blinked as the King returned with a cloth to wipe his cut. He wondered what exactly he’d have him do. He certainly wasn’t unattractive.

Greg muttered under his breath about stupid, bloody pirates as he set down the cloth and picked up a jar. “This is going to hurt,” he said, swearing again as Mycroft tensed. “It’s for the cut. Look, I meant it, alright? I’m not going to hurt you. And you certainly won’t be spending the night in my bed.” 

“I don’t mind,” said Mycroft softly.

Greg stilled, fingers rubbing salve over the boy’s neck. “Don’t mind what?”

“Staying the night in your bed.” 

Time to nip that idea in the bud, Greg thought. Before it went any further. “Oh, so you want a bit of rough, aye? You ever been taken Mycroft?” Greg purred, setting the jar aside and standing to loom over him. “Ever been buggered by a thick, hard prick, until you can’t breathe?” 

Mycroft blushed and shook his head. He was hard already at Greg’s words, at the way he stood over him.

“No? How about now then?” Greg grabbed him, clapping a hand over his mouth and pushing him to the bed. “I could just take you. Rip off your trousers and fuck you. It would hurt, I’ve been told I’m quite big and I’m not at all patient. Come inside you, fill you up. But maybe I wouldn’t be enough for you. Might have to get some of the others in, have them go at you as well.” Greg slid his hand under Mycroft’s shirt, scraping his nails hard against his stomach. “I am not a nice man, Mycroft Holmes. I’m the pirate king,” Greg growled, releasing him. “But I don’t fuck children.” He moved away, tossing a stack of clothes at the bed. “Get out of those rags. Boots that should fit you are under the bed.” Greg left, controlling himself until he was out of sight, before bending over to catch his breath, sick to his stomach at the fear he had seen in Mycroft’s eyes...the fear and the utter arousal. 

Mycroft blinked as he was left alone. He groaned and rolled onto his side, pushing a hand into his bottoms and grabbing his cock. He breathed in the scent of Greg that lingered on the sheets and jerked himself off, wanting all the threats that the King had promised.

Greg palmed his cock, willing the hardness to go away. He shook his head, swallowing as he spat on his hand, slipped it into his breeches and worked himself until he came, muffling a groan in his arm. This boy was going to be trouble.

By the time Greg returned, Mycroft had changed. He was still in his bed though, curled up on his side, napping lightly.

“Shit,” Greg said, crossing his arms and looking at the boy. He sighed, and glanced out the window, noting that though the storm was still howling, the sun had definitely dropped past the horizon. He stepped forward, blowing out the oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness as he took his leave. He’d deal with the boy tomorrow and hopefully, Merida wouldn’t eat him in the meantime.


	2. An Empty Bed

Mycroft woke alone. He sat up quickly, remembering where he was. The bed was cold, so Greg had slept elsewhere. Mycroft stood, sorry for the loss. A beautiful bird of prey watched him from a perch. “Morning,” he said quietly.

“Good morning,” Greg said, coming in the door and cocking his head at the boy greeting the bird. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, sparing a glance for Mycroft before moving to Merida, tossing her a scrap of bloody meat. She gulped it down eagerly, and hopped forward for Greg to stroke her feathers. 

“Would have slept better with you,” muttered Mycroft.

Greg turned, raising his eyebrows. “Better get used to an empty bed then. Get your boots on,” he ordered, Merida ruffling her feathers at his tone. 

Mycroft obeyed. “So what will you do with me, then?”

“The hell if I know,” Greg muttered, turning back to the door. “Come on, we’re going for a walk.” 

“Yes, sir.” Mycroft fell into step just behind him. “As I said, I do read and write a number of languages. And I’ll be of age in just a few months.”

Greg grunted, and led him down the hall, exiting the palace. The storm had knocked a few trees down, and one of the worse off buildings at the edge of town, but there was only debris to contend with in the center. “Can you do arithmetic?” Greg asked, stepping quickly over a piece of twisted wood, a group of pirates nodding to him as he passed. 

“Yes, sir. I’m good with numbers as well as words.”

“Good. There may be use for you yet.” A use that didn’t involve him spread across the blankets, moaning as Greg drove into him. Greg shook his head and gestured at the door of a rickety looking three story. “Go on, knock.” 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and did so.

The door opened and Sherlock shot out, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s waist. “My!” Greg looked him over with a grin. He was dressed in a loose white shirt, black breeches and boots and there was a sword at his waist. A sword. 

“John Watson! Get your arse out here!” Greg shouted, crossing his arms as he waited. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” grumbled John, stepping out a moment later. “Good morning, sir.”

“There a reason the little one has a bloody sword, John?” Greg said, raising an eyebrow. “You know the rules. Knives only until they’re twelve.” 

Sherlock gasped, looking put out. “But it’s mine! I know how to use it!” 

“You what?” Greg asked, looking at him. “Explain.” 

“He learned,” said Mycroft with a sigh. “He’s always been fascinated by pirates.”

“Oh?” Greg said, hiding a grin as he met John’s eyes. “I think he needs to prove it.” He drew his sword, beckoning Sherlock forward. “Come on lad, earn your place.” 

Sherlock’s eyes sparkled as he drew his own sword, taking a fighting stance.

Greg rolled his eyes and moved forward, knocking the sword from his hand. “Fix your grip,” he said, nodding at the weapon. “Stance is fine, but that’s not how you keep the weapon in your hand. Pick it up and try again.” 

Tongue sticking to the corner of his mouth, Sherlock adjusted himself, he moved forward to attack.

"Better," Greg said as he parried, blades clashing. "Again, Sherlock." 

Mycroft couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face as he watched. Sherlock always had been pretty determined.

"Good," Greg said as Sherlock landed a solid blow. He smirked as the boy's pull back went wide, and stepped in, pulling his legs out from under him. Sherlock went down, blade flying from his hand. "But you need to learn balance." Greg said, sheathing his blade and reaching a hand down for him. "You can keep the blade." 

“Thank you, sir.” Sherlock got to his feet and gave him a little bow, keeping his eyes on him.

Greg smiled. "John will teach you more. Until then do not engage anyone in combat, understand? Now, Mycroft. What other tricks do you have up your sleeve as apparently your brother has been training to be a pirate?" 

“My father is a diplomat and I’ve always been trained to take after him, sir.”

"Your father is a diplomat?" Greg said, catching John's worried gaze. "What level of government?" 

“Very high level,” he said, honestly. “I don’t know what happened to our parents. We were separated in the attack.”

Greg nodded to John. "Find out. Send Sally and Irene." 

“Yes, sir.” He gave a salute and went to obey orders.

“How can I help you, sir,” said Mycroft softly.

"We are going to continue our walk. You're going to tell me what you think of a pirate king’s life. Sherlock? Coming with?" Sherlock nodded and the trio set off. 

Mycroft was impressed as they walked. He could tell how well Greg took care of his people. Sherlock chattered a bit as they walked, absorbing like a sponge.

Greg kept up a steady conversation with the younger Holmes, answering all his questions, but he couldn’t help watching Mycroft. The boy was graceful, walking steady no matter the terrain. He thought his heart might leap out of his throat when Mycroft intervened in a fight between two children, returning the young girl’s knife and doll, and send the boy running with just a look. He was good. He coughed and turned away as Mycroft glanced to him, answering Sherlock’s question about the tree they were under, before smiling and leading them up a tower. 

“This is the watchtower,” Greg said, when they were standing in the tall bamboo structure. “You can see the whole town from here.” 

“It’s beautiful,” said Mycroft, looking out on the town and the harbor.

“Yeah, it is,” Greg said, looking at him. He turned away as Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “There’s the palace, and there,” he said, pointing, “is where Sherlock’s been staying with John.” 

“I see you rely a lot on John. Was he raised here?”

“Not exactly,” Greg said, leaning on the wall. “John’s the reason I made it law not to bring children here, not from their homes anyway. He was stolen from his family by my predecessor and well....” He shook his head, not wanting to scare the pair. “When I took power, I made sure that it wouldn’t happen to anyone else. And it hasn’t, until you two. Apparently, my men decided on a loophole.” 

“I am sorry to cause you trouble.”

“You’re not the ones causing trouble, lad,” Greg sighed, setting a hand on his shoulder. 

Mycroft leaned close to him. “I’m not a child, sir.”

Greg frowned, stepping away. “As far as I’m concerned, you are until you’re of age. Now, I’ve sent out two of my captains to find out what happened to your parents. I think I can trust both of you not to breathe a word of this place if I send you back, right?” 

“Of course, sir,” Mycroft said, Sherlock frowning at them.

“I don’t want to leave. I’m going to be a pirate,” Sherlock announced. 

“We’ll have to see what happens Sherlock.” He squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s take you back to John.”

“No! You’re going to send me away, like father tried to!” Sherlock snapped, tugging away. “I’m going to be a pirate, like Blackbeard, and I’m never going to land my ship.” Greg reached out but Sherlock jumped, scurrying down the ladder and taking off at a run. 

Mycroft shook his head. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine. Let’s go find him, before he gets himself lost, alright? What’s this about your father sending him off?” Greg asked, making his way down the ladder.

“Our father never quite knew what to do with him. He’s been kicked out of several schools.”

“And he threatened to send him somewhere?” Greg held his hand out as Mycroft stumbled at the bottom. “Careful.” 

“Back to England, yes. Alone.” Greg’s hand was warm in his and he didn’t want to let go.

“And he didn’t want to leave. Understandable,” Greg said, regretfully dropping Mycroft’s hand. “Let’s go find the little bugger.” 

**  
Four hours later and Sherlock was still curled underneath a mangrove tree, outside of town. The high roots were perfect for hiding him, especially as he didn’t want anyone to know he was crying. He rubbed his eyes on his sleeve and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. If father and mother didn’t want him, and the pirates didn’t want him, he’d make it on his own. He could-CRACK! Sherlock shouted, eyes flying wide at the lightning strike further along the river he was near, followed almost immediately by the roll of thunder. He covered his face with his hands and curled farther into the curve of the roots. It was just a storm. Nothing to be afraid of. 

John was still out looking. He took shelter as the lightning struck close by, cursing softly. “Sherlock?” he called, thinking he’d heard a whimper.

Sherlock was trembling, waiting for the rain to begin to fall. He had to move, in case the river overflowed and swept him away. He scrambled up from the ground, the skies opening up above him. He started to go back the way he came, but it was dark now, and he hadn’t left a trail and the rain made it hard to see and the lightning struck somewhere close by again. He gasped, scrambling back as the lightning showed a shadowy figure. “Ah!”

“It’s me,” said John, taking his arm and tugging him quickly into the shelter of a building. “It’s John, Sherlock.”

“John!” Sherlock buried his face in the older boy’s arms, shivering. “I got lost,” he admitted. “And then it started to storm.” 

“It’s okay. We can stay here till it passes.”

Sherlock nodded, sniffling. “I don’t want to go back to the town.” 

“Why not?”

“Cause your king is going to send me home. I don’t want to go.” 

“He may not. It depends on if we find your family. Why don’t you want to go home?”

Sherlock mumbled something, tightening his hold on John.

John smoothed his hair. “You can tell me. I can keep secrets.”

“My father doesn’t want me. No one wants me because I don’t behave, don’t wanna be a diplomat like him,” Sherlock said. “Everyone thinks I’m a freak.” 

“Well, I don’t think you are. I think you’re very clever and it’s hard to fit in when you’re smart.”

“But everyone makes fun of me because I am.” 

“That’s nothing to do with you. It’s because they’re scared of you.”

“Scared of me?” Sherlock asked quietly, looking up at him. 

“Yeah, scared that you might know more than them. And I bet you do.”

“But how do I make them like me?”

John shrugged. “Why do you want them to like you?”

“Because….” Sherlock blinked. “I don’t know.” He jumped at another crack of lightning. 

John put an arm around him. “I like you.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked, tightening his grip as the thunder rolled. 

“Because you are clever. Because you know what you want. Because I think you’re going to grow up to be a good man.”

“Everyone says pirates are bad,” Sherlock mumbled. “but I don’t think so. Especially not you.” 

“Greg is good, too. He takes good care of everyone here. He saved my life.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Eight years ago when he became the King.”

“Oh. Um, John...I heard people talking about him. Saying things.” 

“Greg? What were they saying?”

Sherlock flushed, looking away. “Just that he likes red hair. But they didn’t mean like, not like I like sword fighting. They used other words.” He swallowed. 

“He won’t hurt your brother. He’s not like that.”

“You’re sure? Mycroft...doesn’t. I mean..never mind.” 

“He doesn't what?”

“Nothing.” Sherlock shook his head. 

“Like boys? Like girls?”

Sherlock flushed again. “It’s a secret okay? Our father wouldn’t be happy. But Mycroft doesn’t like girls. I caught him kissing the cook’s son once, that’s the only reason he told me.” Sherlock drew his knees up to his chest. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I happen to know that Greg likes both.”

“Both?” Sherlock asked. “Can you explain it to me? Mycroft won’t and mother said I was too young to learn about that stuff.” 

“It just means that’s he’s attracted to both of them. So he might kiss a boy or he might kiss a girl.” John listened to the storm grow worse. “Tell me about where you lived? I was born in Scotland, I think. I was stolen from my parents when I was young, I don’t remember them.”

“Oh, we lived right by the sea up on a high, high cliff,” Sherlock said, tucking himself closer into John’s chest as he waved his hands around. “See, our house was the highest one, and it was great, ‘cause I could go on the roof and see the whole town! And at the bottom of the cliff, there was a beach and Mycroft would take me down to the tidal pools underneath, and let me stay there the whole day. We moved there when I was six, so I don’t remember much about before, but Mycroft said it was the biggest place in Britain. I want to see it some day. He called it London. I’d know more but, I missed that day in school,” Sherlock chuckled, storm outside forgotten as he grinned. “I got in trouble for digging up the garden last year.” 

“Find anything interesting?”

“I was pretending to look for treasure,” Sherlock said, digging in his pocket. “And I found some, see?” He held up a banged up silver coin. “I knew I could be a pirate.” 

"I think you'll do quite well here, Master Holmes."

Sherlock grinned at him. “Can I be a pirate captain one day?” 

"If you work hard and earn the respect of your men."

“Okay.” Sherlock said, clutching the coin to his chest. “I’m gonna do it. Just wait and see.”


	3. Thunder's Roar

Greg watched as Mycroft paced back and forth. “Mycroft, sit down. You’re not going back out there, you don’t know the land. I mean it, sit down.”

"Why?" He growled. 

“Because you’re not helping him, and you’re not doing any good to yourself either.” Greg got up, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh right. I'm just a child. It doesn't matter that I've taken care of Sherlock since I was ten years old."

“Mycroft, just sit down, come on,” Greg said, Mycroft glaring at him. 

"No."

“Right, I’m not having this,” Greg said. He leaned down, and tossed Mycroft over his back, moving from the throne room and down the hall. “Stop bloody struggling, people are going to think-dammit Mycroft.” He swore, slapping the swearing boy over the arse. 

Mycroft groaned. "Gonna leave me to get myself off again?"

“Yes!” Greg grunted, unlocking his rooms and tossing Mycroft onto the bed. “Stay here, damn you.” 

"You want me. I know you do."

Greg stood, pushing his hair back from his face. “Yeah, I do. Doesn’t matter.” 

"It's two bloody months!"

“It doesn’t make a difference!” Greg shouted. “You’re a child, and this is only proving my point!” 

"I've taken care of Sherlock and myself for years. But fine, leave me here alone. Maybe I won't be here in the morning. You fucking tease."

Greg’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “I’m the fucking tease? You’ve been coming onto me since the moment you figured out I-- you know what? No.” Greg took two steps forward. “You want me? You want all of me, aye? I’m a fucking pirate, Mycroft. I take, and I plunder and I don’t give back what I claim.” He grabbed Mycroft, pulling him up and seizing his mouth. He forced his way in, tongue taking as he pleased, stealing Mycroft’s breath. Greg broke the kiss, breathing heavy as he pushed Mycroft back down on the bed. “You will be here in the morning,” he growled, grabbing a rope from where it was coiled in the corner and twisting it around Mycroft’s wrists. 

Mycroft panted, looking up at him. Greg finished the knot and slammed the door behind him. He stared at the empty place where Greg had been and fought back tears. 

Greg turned the key in the lock, ensuring that Mycroft wouldn’t get out before he came back. “I’m going to go find your bloody brother for you,” he called out, slipping the key into his pocket and stomping away, fuming as he left the palace. 

John met Greg not far outside of the palace with Sherlock in tow. "Are you okay?" he asked Greg. 

“Not exactly.” He nodded at Sherlock, the boy curled up asleep in John’s arms. “He’s rather small for ten isn’t he? Where was he?” 

"Hiding under a tree. And yeah they're both a bit small for how well off their family evidently is."

“Tell me about it. Mycroft’s bloody solid though, kicks hard,” Greg muttered, rubbing his shoulder. 

"You need to talk about it?" Despite the age difference they were close. 

Greg considered. “Yeah, actually. You might be the person to talk about this with. Let’s go put Sherlock up in the palace somewhere. I’d say stick him with Mycroft, but…”

John raised an eyebrow. "I'll get him settled. Meet in your study?"

“Yeah.” Greg nodded, and they split up at the palace door. Greg made his way to the study, grabbing a bottle of rum and tossing himself on the floor in front of the fire. He looked up as John came in a few minutes after. “In the kitchen with Mrs. Hudson?” he asked, taking a swig.

“Yeah. So what’s going on?” He grabbed the bottle and poured himself a small drink.

Greg took the bottle back with a scowl. “Not for you. For me,” he grumbled. “Mycroft is what’s going on,” he said. 

“So he’s in your room right now, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Greg said moodily. “Tied up on the bed, and locked in,” he said, holding up the key. 

“He’s trying to get in your trousers.”

Greg snorted. “That’s right. And I won’t let him in. He doesn’t know what he really wants. And he’s a child still.” 

“Are you trying to convince him or yourself?”

“Am I what?” Greg asked, sitting up. “I’m not trying to convince anyone. That’s the truth.” 

“By what, a couple of months? You think he turns eighteen and magically he’s available?”

“Well, no, I mean yes, but I...oh fuck off, that’s exactly what he said.” Greg threw himself back down. 

John chuckled. “Okay then, why do you think he wants you?”

“I dunno, mate. He’s pissed off now. I literally tied him up, I wasn’t joking.” 

“And nothing you’ve done has pushed him away, has it?”

“I’ve been trying! Since the first day, John.” 

“So then, maybe he honestly wants you?”

“He’s not a--” Greg broke off at the look on John’s face. “Okay fine, say he does. What should I do?”

“Do you want him? Have you talked to him?”

“Haven’t talked to him. Obviously want him, or we wouldn’t be in this situation.” Greg sighed and set down the bottle. “So what, I just go up, untie him and talk it out?” 

“That might be a good start. Unless you want to simply make him hate you.”

"Shit. Alright, fine. If he kills me, you get to be fucking King. And good luck with the brother." Greg said, standing. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

**

Mycroft had freed his hands. He was curled up against the pillows, rubbing his aching wrists and crying softly. Of course Greg didn’t want him. Nobody wanted him. Father had only kept him around because he could deal with Sherlock, otherwise he would have sent him to boarding school years ago. He was kidding himself if he thought Greg wanted him physically. He’d only wanted to scare him into giving up. So maybe he should. Make himself useful as a scholar and a diplomat and hide those sinful desires away. Pretend that part of him didn’t even exist.

Greg paused outside the door, and raised a hand, but decided not to knock, instead, sliding the key in and opening it. “Mycroft, I think you and I--are you crying?” 

“No,” he lied, sitting up quickly. He took a shuddering breath. “I apologize for my behavior, sire.”

“Sire?” Greg said, stepping closer and sitting on the bed. “You don’t call me sire, and you are crying. You’re upset. Look, I’m sorry if I frightened you.” 

“You don’t want me,” said Mycroft, looking away. He rubbed his wrists and slipped out of the bed. “No one wants me, so I should have expected this to be the same,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I’ll happily serve you in whatever capacity you think best suits me. Sherlock’s happy here, so I won’t leave.”

“Mycroft, come back please.” Greg sighed and stood, coming over to him and taking his hands. “Let me put something on these, okay?” he said, looking at the roughened skin of his wrists. 

“If you think that’s best, sir,” Mycroft kept his eyes down, heart aching, but determined to do whatever was best.

“For gods sake, where did your fire go, Mycroft?” Greg said. “I’m sorry, all right? For frightening you, for tying you up, for just being an absolute prick. But you...you terrified me a bit. And that’s not easy to do.” 

“How could I scare you?” asked Mycroft, watching as he grabbed a salve for his skin. “I’m a child, as you’re fond of pointing out. It was wrong of me to tempt you.”

“Yeah, you are. But two months as you’re fond of pointing out, doesn’t make much difference.” Greg sighed, coming back with the jar. “Sit, My.” Greg waited as Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed and kneeled in front of him, taking his wrists carefully in hand. “You have very nice hands, Mycroft.” Greg said, almost distractedly. “There is a lot about this town you don’t know, My. I wasn’t always king, I didn’t inherit the throne. It wasn’t always this nice.” 

“Your people look up to you. It’s a fair sight better than the town we were taken from. I’m sorry though, really. You...you make me feel things...you excite me...and I shouldn’t have allowed that to get the better of me.” Greg’s hands were gentle on his skin. Mycroft squeezed back more tears.

“”S alright,” Greg said softly. “It’s natural to want, to desire. But you can’t force someone into bed with you, yeah? And I’m not saying I was right either. I should have sat you down, explained to you why I kept saying no.” He switched to Mycroft’s other hand, rubbing the salve in carefully. 

“I’m too young, as you said.” Mycroft felt exhausted. “Did you find Sherlock?”

“Yeah. He’s fine,” Greg said, wiping his hands off, and pulling a strip of cloth around Mycroft’s wrist, tying it off before doing the same to his other. “He’s in the kitchen, staying with the cook. As long as we get him out of there in the next three days, I’m sure he won’t explode from overfeeding.” Greg looked up at Mycroft, smiling gently. “Now, what am I going to do with you…”

Mycroft didn’t meet his eyes. “Whatever you think is best,” he said, voice still quiet. “I’ll abide by whatever you say.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have to. What do you want Mycroft?” Greg asked, cupping his face. 

“It doesn’t matter, sir.”

“It does. It does very much.” 

Mycroft shook his head, still not meeting his his eyes.

“Okay,” Greg sighed. He reached down, pulling Mycroft’s boots off, one by one. He stood and kicked his own away, laying his sword against the table. He quietly slipped his vest and shirt off, leaving him in just his leggings. Climbing onto the bed, he held up the sheet, tugging Mycroft with one hand to him. “Then we’ll talk about it in the morning. As for me, I’ve had a bit of rum tonight and I plan on sleeping like the dead. With you beside me, if you still don’t mind.” 

“It’s fine.” Mycroft curled up against his side and slipped into an exhausted sleep of his own.

Greg slipped an arm around his waist, following him down, hoping that in the morning things would look better.


	4. Morning's Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Caution ******  
> This chapter is where the tags for implied childhood sexual abuse and child abuse come into play. There are no graphic descriptions and it is a very small portion. If you wish to skip this section, stop reading at _Yes, sir. I understand. ___and continue at _Sherlock has never had many friends. ___If you wish to know what you've missed as far as content, the bottom authors notes contain a bulleted list of what Greg imparts to Mycroft.

Greg woke, bed empty beside him. He sat up quickly, relaxing as he saw Mycroft standing at the window. There was a breeze ruffling his hair, and the early morning sun was shooting his skin through with gold. Greg moved silently, joining him at the window, leaning on the side. “It’s beautiful,” Greg said gently, looking out at the cliffs and sea. “I remember the first time I stood here, looked out at the sun coming up over the mountains. I was a bit older than you are now, but not by much. My hands were stained red with the blood of a very bad man.” 

“The previous king.” It wasn’t a question, Mycroft knew that had to be who it was.

“Yeah. John was here too.” Greg sighed. “What I’m about to tell you...doesn’t leave this room, do you understand? The pirates, they know some of it. But it is not going to become common knowledge. I will not do that to John. It’s as much his story as mine.” 

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“John was taken when he was very young. His family was slain and he was brought here. My predecessor took a liking to him, kept him around as a toy. He wasn’t a kind man, the town was dying, the pirates leaving. And the worse it got, the worse he treated John. I was always in and out of the palace, as his messenger. John was a good kid, even though he was never without bruises or a split lip. One early morning, I came up to drop off a message. I heard John crying out. I knocked on the door, but no one responded, so I just….walked in. What I saw...well.” Greg shuddered a bit. “He had John pinned, trousers around his ankles as he hit him. John was bleeding, sobbing as the king pressed his face into the mattress. I ran in, and drew my knife. When it was over, the king was dead on the floor, and the sun was just rising over the mountains.” Greg stepped away, flipped the corner of the rug up to show a dark stain on the stone. “The sun was rising, and I was king,” he said quietly. 

“And John was very young,” said Mycroft quietly. “Which is why you have your rules. I understand. I could tell you were a good man, sir.”

“Which is why I have my rules,” Greg confirmed. “John was...a mess. He wouldn’t let anyone near him again for ages. If I had known how bad it had gotten, I would have done something sooner. But he was always so quiet, always so kind. Never complained. He used to, still does actually, go out and find injured animals. Bring them back, patch them up.” 

“That’s why he and Sherlock get along so well then, I’d wager. I’m glad. Sherlock has never had many friends.”

“I knew Sherlock would be safe with John. I hoped that he would give John a chance to...get closer to someone his own age. He needs to make more connections.” 

“We’ve almost always only had each other,” said Mycroft quietly. “I moved in the circles my father put me, but they were never my friends.”

“Would you like to be my friend, Mycroft?” Greg asked. “It’s lonely being king.” 

Mycroft bit his lip. He felt that twist in his heart again. “I like you, sir. But if you wish to be only friends, that’s acceptable to me.”

“You know my reasons for wanting to wait. You know why I said the things I did, tried to frighten you away, make you see we couldn’t. I didn’t want you to do something because of a foolish notion of owning. Didn’t want you to think that I would take advantage. So I’ll ask this once, and tell the whole truth, Mycroft. Do you want me?” 

“Yes.” He kept his eyes on the horizon.

Greg stepped away, locking the door with a sharp click, before joining Mycroft at the window once more. 

Mycroft’s heart leapt into his throat as he turned. “Sir?”

Greg held out his hand. “Come here. First time, right?” 

Mycroft swallowed and took it. “Yes. And if you don’t want…”

“Don’t want what? You? How could I say no...” Greg said gently, pulling him to his chest. “You’re amazing, Mycroft.” 

Mycroft leaned against him. “I liked it when you were rough with me,” he admitted.

Greg snorted. “I could tell, fool. You know, there was one thing I meant, out of all that bluster,” he said, pulling him to the bed. 

“What’s that?” asked Mycroft, laying back and looking up at him.

Greg clambered up, straddling his waist. “I’m a pirate. I take, and I plunder, and I don’t give back what I claim,” he whispered, pinning Mycroft’s hands above his head, careful of his wrists. 

Mycroft moaned, heart racing underneath him. “Please. Claim me.”

“Your heart is beating so fast, Mycroft,” Greg said softly. “I can feel it. Like the pounding of waves on the shore.” 

“You make me feel this way,” he whispered softly. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

“Do you want me in you?” Greg asked, dipping his head to run his teeth along Mycroft’s neck. “I am big as I said, but I am patient. It will not hurt.” 

“I do. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone,” he moaned and parted his legs.

Greg smiled, and pulled at his waistband, tugging his trousers down, sliding his nails gently over Mycroft’s thighs. “I’m going to show you what comes of desire, Mycroft,” he growled, slipping a hand to pull at his cock. At Mycroft’s low moan, Greg dropped a kiss to his lips and moved away, tipping oil from one of the lamps out onto his hand. “This is something we can use. The salve is another, and there are more things that can be found.” He pushed Mycroft’s legs up, sliding his hand down to tease at his hole. 

“Please,” whispered Mycroft. He left his hands above his head, loving the delicious vulnerability of it.

“Good lad. Keep your hands up there until I tell you to take them down.” Greg purred, dipping down to lick a hot stripe up his cock.

Mycroft cried out softly, cock jumping with pleasure. “Gregory, sir,” he groaned, body already overloading with pleasure.

“Say my name, Mycroft. What am I?” 

“The Pirate King,” Mycroft moaned, watching him with heated gaze.

“Whose king?” Greg asked, teeth scraping along the base of his cock. 

Mycroft writhed underneath his mouth. “My King.”

“That’s right,” Greg growled, swallowing him down as he pressed two slick fingers inside. 

Mycroft moved a hand to shout against his fist, arching and bucking against Greg’s mouth and fingers, wondering if he could come like this and feeling very much like he could.

“You wanna come already? God, you’re just filthy aren’t you? Really did want a bit of rough.” Greg asked, pulling off to tease at his head. 

Mycroft nodded, feeling his balls tightening as Greg’s tongue flicked over his slit.

“Ah, ah. Use your words.” Greg ordered, licking up his cock as he scissored his fingers.

Mycroft cried out again and swallowed. “Please sir,” he panted. “Want to come.” 

“Come then,” Greg smirked, pushing his fingers in and pressing, Mycroft arching as his prostate was struck. 

Mycroft shouted and came, shaking around Greg’s fingers, breath knocked out of him.

Greg pulled his fingers away, lapping up the mess coating Mycroft’s belly. He moved up, licking his way into Mycroft’s mouth, sharing the taste as the boy moaned. “See how good you taste?” Greg asked, pressing his cock against Mycroft’s thigh. “See what you do to me?” 

"You do it to me too,” he panted. 

“I know. Already want to come again, don’t you? Feel your cock twitching, body reacting. You want this so bad. I’m going to give it to you, Mycroft. Stretch you, fill you up.” 

“Yes, sir, please, sir.”

Greg reached down, sliding his fingers back inside Mycroft. "Anything you want, I will give." 

“You, sir. I want you.”

Greg nodded, stretching him until Mycroft's cock lay hard against his stomach. He pulled his fingers away, oiling his cock. "Legs over my shoulder, lover," he said, positioning them. "It's time." 

Mycroft’s breath was short. He wanted nothing more than this man’s rough hands on him. Rough hands and kind eyes, and a thick cock. He groaned as it pressed against him, loving the stretch of it.

"Feel it Mycroft, the way I'm spreading you wide," Greg growled. "Making you mine." He dropped his head close, holding Mycroft's gaze, sharing his air as he pushed his way in. 

“Yes, yes,” moaned Mycroft, lost in those beautiful brown eyes. “Yours.”

Greg chuckled low and deep. "And it now seems the greatest treasure I've ever stolen, came willingly..." He bottomed out, and held, waiting for Mycroft's breath to steady. "That's it, lovely one. Take me in, move with me." 

Mycroft noded and rocked his hips as Greg moved, both of them groaning together. He reached up and ran his hands down Greg’s back.

"Good Mycroft, you're doing so well," Greg panted, angling his hips. "Let's make it better, yeah?" 

“Better?” He couldn’t imagine how.

"Better," Greg laughed, thrusting in against his prostate as he caught Mycroft's lips. 

Mycroft cried out against him, the pirate swallowing his moans of pleasure. Everything was getting washed away in a haze of bliss.

Greg slipped a hand between them, grasping Mycroft's cock. "Want you to come with me inside you," he growled, timing his pulls to the movement of his hips. 

Mycroft gasped, eyes slamming shut as he came over Greg’s hand, everything going hazy as the hot come hit his stomach.

"That's it," Greg mumbled, hands moving to Mycroft's thighs where they rested on his shoulder. "My turn." He kissed Mycroft again, beginning to thrust hard, seeking his release. 

Mycroft moaned and wrapped his arms around Greg’s neck, loving the feel of being full, of Greg spreading him open and taking.

"You're mine," Greg grunted, loving the whines that escaped Mycroft as his prostate was struck. "Want you like this forever." He slammed in deep, Mycroft arching up to meet him as he came with a moan. 

The young man was limp in Greg’s arms as he slowly pulled out, whimpering at the loss. It was every bit as wonderful as he’d imagined it would be.

Greg slid Mycroft's hands away, moving off the bed. He came back with a damp cloth, praising him quietly. "You did so well, love. So beautiful, sounded so good." Greg brushed a kiss over Mycroft's lips, holding a mug of water from the side table to his mouth. "Drink, come on." 

Mycroft drank slowly, watching his king, exhausted, but, for the first time in his life, truly happy.

When Mycroft had finished, Greg set the mug aside, pulling him down to lie quietly beside him. The sunlight streaming in from the window danced on their skin, and Greg followed with gentle fingers, teasing along freckles. He leaned over for a kiss, smiling at Mycroft's gasp of surprise. "Was that alright?" 

“Amazing,” he said softly, snuggling up against him. “I...I’m happy.”

"I'm glad," Greg replied. "Thank you, Mycroft. For allowing me this." 

“Thank you, sir,” he said softly. “I… really didn’t want to force you. After last night...if you’d told me to stay away, I would have.”

"I know. And that's why I finally agreed. You saw my reasons, you let me say no. Do you understand?" 

“I think so.”

"Alright then," Greg said gently. "Now, as far as the other pirates go, they oughtn't say anything. This can stay between us, if you like." 

“They’ll guess at it if you don’t tell them.”

"Yeah. And I'd rather not hide this," Greg admitted. "They already know about me, so it's up to you." 

“I do want to earn my place though, besides in your bed. I’ve had a lot of schooling.”

"Then I'll name you as consort and install you as advisor. It'll be up to you to make them accept and trust you. You'll have to show you know what you're doing." Greg said, bending his leg up and tucking his hand under his head. 

“I can do that. Even if our parents are alive...I don’t want to go back either…”

Greg smiled and tipped his head down, kissing Mycroft on the forehead. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to.” 

“Father only kept me around because I could handle Sherlock. He kept threatening to send me back to England for schooling. Sometimes I think that’s part of why he behaves like he does.” 

“Sherlock only misbehaved so you wouldn’t leave?” 

“Not the only reason, but I’m fairly certain that’s part of it.”

"Well that's good news for John. He and Sherlock seem to be getting along very well. Since you're both staying, it'll be good that Sherlock might behave a bit more." 

“He’s very clever. But I’m smarter.”

"I'm not surprised," Greg chuckled. "Alright. I have to get out of this bed. You're welcome to stay or to join me." 

“I’ll join you, sir,” Mycroft stole a quick kiss and went looking for his clothes.

Greg dressed as well and they made their way out of the suite, Greg leading the way to the kitchen. Mycroft smiled as Sherlock was sitting at the table, stuffing himself. He looked up at the pair as they came in, narrowing his eyes. “You two slept together. Like, grown up slept together.”

Greg looked at Mycroft, biting his lip to keep from laughing. 

“Told you he was clever,” muttered Mycroft. “We’re not going anywhere, Sherlock.”

Sherlock beckoned Mycroft down, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "John said he wouldn't hurt you. But...you're walking funny. Did he hurt you?" 

Mycroft blushed nearly crimson. “No, not even a little bit.”

"Sherlock, did you finish your bread?" 

Sherlock looked away, smiling at the older woman who came into the kitchen. "Almost! Look, Mycroft came!" He dragged his brother over to her. "Can he have some too?" 

Mrs. Hudson smiled. “Of course, dear. Gregory you need to eat too.”

"Yes ma'am," Greg replied, sitting down at the table. Sherlock looked at him curiously.

"Why are you being polite? You're the king!" 

Greg cocked a brow. "Just because I outrank Mrs. Hudson, doesn't mean I should be rude. Would you like it if I was rude to you? Or Mycroft?" 

"No, but..." Sherlock pursed his lips and crossed his arms, trying to think of an argument. 

"Thought so," Greg chuckled, patting the seat next to him. "Sit, Mycroft," 

Mycroft sat, wincing a bit and trying not to show it.

Mrs. Hudson caught his eye with a knowing look. She came over, set a plate of bread and fresh butter on the table, and smacked Greg in the back of the head. 

"What was that for?" Greg yelped, rubbing his head.

"You know what that was for, Gregory Lestrade. Next time go easy on him." 

"I just did as he asked," Greg muttered, shrinking under her glare. Mycroft crammed some food in his mouth before he could die of embarrassment.

"You three clean up your crumbs when you finish. I'm the cook, not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson said, disappearing into the kitchen. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"What did she mean go easy next time?" 

Greg shook his head. "Eat your bread, Sherlock and we'll go find John for some sword lessons, alright?" He slid a hand up Mycroft's thigh under the table, squeezing gently.

Mycroft gave him a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary for those who skipped  
> -John was kidnapped at a young age  
> -The previous king abused him  
> -Greg caught the king doing so and killed him  
> -Since Greg had killed the king, he became king.


	5. The Velvet Throne

A little while later Mycroft found himself in the study, going over some missives Greg had intercepted and patiently translating. Some of them were in code, but nothing so complicated that he couldn’t figure out.

"Hi, Mycroft," John said, sliding in beside him. "You able to read through all of those?" 

“Yes, sir.” John may have been younger than him, but he obviously held a lot of authority with Greg. He noticed a scar on the younger man’s hand and wondered, but didn’t ask.

"You don't hafta call me sir. You're nearly four years older than me and I'm not anything special." John smiled, putting his boots up on the table. "Well, I'm next in line to be king, but that's more of a joke than anything else." 

“I don’t know about that, Greg obviously relies on you a lot.”

"Yeah, well, we grew up together." John turned a keen eye on Mycroft. "Is there anything you'd like to ask me Mycroft? I know you saw my hand. And I'm guessing Greg talked to you." 

“He told me what happened,” admitted Mycroft.

"I expected him to, you needed to know," John replied. "Greg saved my life, saved a bit more than that if we're being honest. I've seen things, Mycroft, experienced some pretty terrible things. Greg knows that, and Greg fixed it for me. So when you came on like you did, well...." John trailed off, looking at Mycroft.

“Greg was worried that bedding me would make him no better than the old king?”

"Exactly. Thought he was taking advantage, especially since you were brought here for that exact reason." 

“I know I was.” Mycroft shuffled his papers around. “But I was attracted to him from the moment I laid eyes on him,” he admitted. “Maybe even before, when we were taken through the town.”

"The town?" John asked, confusion apparent. 

“I could tell as we were taken through it that people were happy. Or at least content. There weren’t any starving beggars. The people we did see looked well fed.”

"He treats us well," John said, standing and clapping Mycroft on the shoulder. "I'm going to go, I promised Sherlock that I’d take him into the swamp. But, Mycroft, if you ever wanna talk, I'm around yeah? People tell me I'm a good listener." 

“I think I could be happy here, John. Me and Sherlock both. I...rather hope you don’t find our parents.”

"We've got people out. They'll be back in the next week or so." 

Mycroft nodded. “Is… does Greg actually want me? I mean… I didn’t want to make him do something he didn’t want to do.”

"Greg wants you. And not just in his bed. He hasn’t taken and kept a companion in years, Mycroft. I think he’s rapidly growing very fond of you.” John smiled, and left Mycroft to his papers. 

Mycroft brought his finished work to Greg a few hours later. “Here you go, sir.”

“Thank you, Mycroft.” Greg said, taking them. “What do we have? This one, where did it come from?”

“It was taken from a Spanish ship, but the message itself was a combination of French and Italian.”

“And it says they’re picking up some cargo shipments a few leagues away...in the next week? I’ll send one of the smaller fleets to intercept it. We should be able to get a good price for the cloth at least,” Greg muttered. “Why the two languages though, doesn’t make sense. Have you any idea Mycroft?” 

“Well, the captain may have been Italian. The French was there to confuse anyone who might intercept it.”

“Lord, these highborn sailors,” Greg grumbled. “Is that what I have to look forward to with Sherlock? John said he wants to be a pirate captain.” 

“I know he does. And he’ll be one of your best resources if he learns.”

“I figured. He’s a smart kid,” Greg said. He sighed and set aside the papers. “Anything interesting happen to you today?” he asked, gesturing Mycroft closer. 

“John came to check on me. Otherwise I’ve just been working.”

“Yeah?” Greg asked, pulling Mycroft down to straddle his lap and pecking him on the lips. “What did he have to say?” 

“Mostly just wanted to check on me, see if I had any questions. How was your day?” Mycroft smiled and rolled his hips.

Greg growled and grabbed his hips, stopping his movements. “It was fine. I know something that might make it a bit better. We’d have to hurry though, I have an audience in a bit.” 

“What did you have in mind?” smiled Mycroft.

“Can’t you guess?” Greg countered, sliding his hands around Mycroft’s waist and dipping into his trousers. 

Mycroft moaned and moved against him. “Better hurry then, sir.”

“Ah, ah.” Greg said, squeezing his arse. “You don’t tell the king what to do. Especially not as he is sitting on his throne.” 

Mycroft bit his lip. “Yes, sire,” he said with a bit of a growl.

Greg chuckled darkly, and stood, supporting Mycroft. “You want to be in charge, you sit on the throne,” he said, setting Mycroft on the seat and knocked his legs apart, kneeling between them.” 

Mycroft’s breath caught, he looked down as Greg knelt. “Gregory?”

“Yes, Mycroft? Hips up,” Greg said, tugging his trousers down so they pooled around his ankles, caught by his boots. 

“God,” he muttered, gripping the arms of the throne as Greg threw his feet over his shoulders.

“Not quite,” Greg grinned, pulling his arse closer to the edge. “I mean, I’ve been accused of being divine, but generally people seem to think I’ve already fallen from grace. Something to do with my tongue.” He smirked, licking a stripe up Mycroft’s cock. “I’ve heard it’s talented.” 

“I,” Mycroft gasped. “I believe it.” he clapped a hand over his own mouth as Greg teased him.

Greg reached up, tugging Mycroft’s hand away. “Let me hear you,” he said, catching Mycroft’s eye. “Want to hear you. Want everyone to know.” 

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, only for Greg to swallow his cock. He cried out, grabbing Greg’s hair and wrapping his hand in it.

Greg moaned, bobbing his head. 

“So good, so good,” babbled Mycroft, head pressed against the back of the throne.

Greg smirked, dragging his teeth along the bottom of Mycroft’s cock, pulling off to tease at his slit. “Gonna come for me, love? Shout so loud the whole palace hears?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” Mycroft moaned, hips jerking up into Greg’s mouth.

“Go on then.” Greg slipped a finger between his arse cheeks, teasing his rim as he swallowed him down again. 

Mycroft moaned his pleasure. Greg knew how to get him there in just moments and he shouted, pulling on Greg’s hair as he came down his throat.

Greg swallowed, pulling away as Mycroft went limp, panting heavily. “Good enough?” Greg asked, ducking out from under his legs and kissing him deeply. 

Mycroft nodded, spent, surrendering his mouth completely to Greg.

"Later tonight, we'll see how well you return the favor." Greg said, standing and tugging Mycroft's bottoms back up, tucking his limp cock carefully back in. "But for now, you need to get up love,” he continued, just as there was a knock on the door. "Stay if you like." 

“Do you want me to?”

"I'd like that," Greg said, smiling warmly at him. He pressed a kiss to his lips and moved away to open the door." 

Mycroft took a different seat behind the throne, blushing at the look the first man through the door gave him.

Greg smirked at him, sitting back down on his throne, unconcerned with the tent of his trousers. "Gentlemen, let's get started, shall we?"


	6. The Coming Storm

Later that night, Greg and Mycroft lay in bed, sheets twisted around their legs. Greg stroked Mycroft's hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "You know Mycroft," he said quietly, listening to the crickets outside. "We should be hearing back about your family soon. And I haven't asked...Do you want to stay? Not just because Sherlock wants to stay. I'm asking about you." 

“I told John today, I hope you don’t find them,” he said quietly.

"So...you don't want to leave then?" 

“All my life has been about everyone else’s expectations and plans. My father’s mostly. This… this I want for myself,” he admitted.

“What do you want from this place, Mycroft? What do you want to do here?” Greg asked, turning onto his stomach and propping his head up on one hand. 

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly pirate captain material.” He smiled. “I want to help you, use the talents and skills I do have.”

“Then that’s what you’ll be. My advisor, like I suggested earlier today.” 

“I’m good at that. I’d rather be behind the scenes anyway.” He leaned up and kissed Greg. “And I like being in your bed.”

“I’d gotten that, yeah.” Greg smirked, leaning down and catching Mycroft’s lower lip between his teeth. 

Mycroft smiled up at him. “I’m glad we’re here.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Greg said, leaning over and blowing out the last oil lamp. He lay back down as the room fell into darkness and pulled Mycroft against his chest. “Very glad.” 

**

Sally knocked on the door the following mornings, ready to make her report.

“Come in,” Greg called, setting aside the missive he was examining. “Donovan. My favourite captain. What did you hear?”

“A few things. How are your two newest residents?”

“They’re fine, settling in well. Were you able to find anything about their family?” 

“We believe their father has been killed, either during the chaos of the attack or shortly thereafter. And probably by his own people.” She met Greg’s eyes. “Their father was second to the governor.”

Greg sat up slowly, steepling his fingers under his chin. “That might be a problem. Is the governor still alive?” 

“Yes, he seems to have escaped. Irene is...investigating.”

Greg winced. “Well, good luck to that town and anyone who knows what happened. They’re going to need it. The mother?” 

“I believe she may be deceased as well, but we aren’t sure.”

“Not sure?” Greg asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“She vanished, sir.”

“Right.” Greg nodded. “Was there anything else, Sally?” 

“Nothing important that I could see. They did come from money and power though, so I don’t know if it’s wholly safe to keep them here.”

“Well, I’m not forcing them out, Sal. They’ve asked to stay, they want to stay, and if anyone comes after them, I’ll deal with it,” Greg said. 

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s all then. Thank you.” Greg waved his hand, dismissing her and taking up his paper as Sally left. “You can come out now, I know you were lurking about over there,” he said, turning his head. 

John stepped out. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. What are you going to do with them?”

“Exactly what I told Sally. Nothing. They’ve asked to stay, who am I not to give shelter?” Greg asked, flipping over the page in his hand. 

“You’ve never been one to put the safety of this port over individual people,” said John gently.

“Their father is dead. Who is going to come after them?” 

“Their mother maybe?”

“Well, if she does, I’m sure I can handle it. As far as I’m concerned, they’re both pirates now.”

“All right. I know they’re both settling in quite well.” He gave Greg a knowing smile.

“Yeah, they are,” Greg said, narrowing his eyes at John. “Are you trying to get somewhere, John?” he asked, looking him over. “Just ask for whatever you want.” 

“Well, Sherlock is turning eleven soon. And taking to all of this like a fish to water.”

“Yeah,” Greg said, standing up. “Come on, I need to go out and check on the lower level. There was some flooding earlier.” He led John out, hanging an arm around his shoulders. “So, what is it you’re asking?” 

“I’d like to do something for his birthday.”

“Like what?” Greg asked, pushing open the door and grabbing a lamp. “Watch it, haven’t fixed the top step yet.” 

“I don’t know.” John rubbed the back of his head. “Maybe I could take him out for a couple days?”

“Where were you thinking? On the ocean or into the forest?” 

“Onto the ocean. Just a quick cruise around the island.”

“Alright. Make sure you tell Mycroft, don’t want him thinking you’re stealing his little brother.” Greg said. “Actually, you know what? Why don’t you bring Mycroft with you? He mentioned he’d had experience with cartography, I was thinking about getting a new map drawn up. The storms last year changed the western coastline. If not this time, the next, yeah?”

“Yeah, why don’t you ask him if he wants to go or not?”

“Will do.” Greg held the lamp up. “There is definitely water coming in here, I’m going to have to get builders in. Sometimes I hate these damned ruins.” 

“But it’s a good harbor.”

“It is indeed.” Greg sighed. “Right, back up then. I’ll go try and see if Johnson is still in port, have her come down and look at this.” 

“Okay. Find out if Mycroft wants to come along.”

“Sure.” 

Greg and John went back up, walking out through the palace and parting ways at the door. Sherlock dropped down from the window sill where he had been hiding, looking from side to side with a wide grin before scurrying after John.

**

Mycroft elected not to go with Sherlock and John. “Next time. I know Sherlock will have more fun if I’m not there.”

“No bother,” Greg said, taking a drink of his ale. “You don’t mind though? About the map?” 

“Not at all. I told you, I want to help you in any way I can.”

“Fantastic. John is gonna take Sherlock out tomorrow, and I was gonna do a round of the docks. We’ve got two ships coming in, one cargo. I was hoping you’d come with, I could introduce you to the captains. Properly.” 

“I’d like that, sir.”

Greg grinned. “You’ve really got to stop calling me that.” 

“What would rather I call you?”

“My name, Greg said, leaning over the table and clasping his hand. 

“Gregory?”

“That is it, yeah,” Greg said, squeezing his hand. “Don’t you like it?” 

“I do.” Mycroft leaned in to kiss him.

“I’m glad,” Greg replied, bringing a hand up to cup his face. “I’m very glad,” he chuckled, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

“Boys! Not at the table,” Mrs. Hudson snapped, coming in with a tray of food. “Honestly, can’t you keep your hands off for just a moment?” 

Mycroft blushed and sat back.

Greg gave her a smirk, reaching out to take the tray from her. “Thank you, Mrs.Hudson. We’re going to the docks tomorrow if you’d like to join?” 

“I have plenty here to keep myself busy. You two can go play hide the herring all you want, and no bother on an old woman.”

Greg choked on his mouthful of ale, coughing and pounding his chest as he flushed. 

Mrs. Hudson said nothing else and swept out of the room. Mycroft was crimson, but he somehow found his feet to rub Greg’s back.

“I swear, I ought never come down here,” Greg said weakly. “Everytime it’s something else with her.” 

Mycroft chuckled. “It’ll be all right.”

“You’re as red as a lobster, you shouldn’t be talking.” Greg grumbled, reaching forward for a slice of bread.

Mycroft dropped a kiss to his head, keeping his eyes open in case of the return of Mrs. Hudson, and Greg rolled his eyes, tugging him down to sit and finish the meal.

**

Greg woke, head pounding, sprawled on the stones of the alley between the pub and fish market. He groaned, pressing his hand to the back of his head, palm coming back red. “Shit.” 

He remembered walking down to the dock with Mycroft, seeing John and Sherlock off. Introducing Mycroft to a few of the older captains, then coming back up this way to find Johnson. Mycroft had been laughing at him as they passed the alleyway, something about Greg’s face as he chatted. Then, Greg remembered Mycroft’s eyes going wide, but nothing else. He put his head between his knees as a wave of nausea went over him. Where the hell was Mycroft? Someone must have taken him. 

“Sire?” Someone was at the entry to the alleyway, voice thick with disbelief. 

Greg waved whoever it was closer. “We’ve got a problem. Sound the alarm,” he said weakly.


	7. An Overdue Conversation

Mycroft came awake slowly at first. Then he was suddenly aware of movement beneath him. A boat. He sat straight up. “Gregory!”

“Not quite.” 

“Mother?” Mycroft stared in disbelief at the redheaded woman standing at the wheel of the small sailboat. 

“Yes. Now, would you care to explain why I had to come all the way to a pirate cove to get you back? And where is your brother?” Elizabeth Holmes asked, turning a harsh gaze upon her son. 

“Take me back,” growled Mycroft.

“The hell I will,” Elizabeth snapped. “We’re going home. I have business to deal with.” 

“I liked it there. I want to go back. That’s home now.”

“You are not going to be a pirate!” 

“I’m not going to be. I’m helping him. And I love him. What the hell did you do with him?” Mycroft had never stood up to his mother like this. His heart pounded hard in his chest.

“Love him! You don’t love him, you love the idea of him. He’s a pirate! I left him in the bloody alleyway, and good riddance. You don’t know what these people are like, Mycroft Edwin Holmes, and you will not be going back there,” she said forcefully. 

“He’s a good man, Mother. For once in my life I was happy!”

“What do you know about good men? Dammit Mycroft, listen to me,” Elizabeth said. “I know what is best for you! I’ve only ever done what was best for you! Do you have any idea--” She cut herself off, spinning the wheel to the side, ship turning. “Enough of this.” 

“Any idea what? Take me back. Please.” Mycroft found tears stinging his eyes.

“No! Why should I take you back? Why Mycroft? Because you have some foolish notion of love for a man who is nothing more than a common pirate?” 

“He’s the pirate king, mother. And he’s named me as his consort and advisor.”

“You’re the king's consort, his advisor?” Elizabeth gasped, paling. She locked the wheel into position and turned to face down her son. “How dare you! You have no idea what you’ve done!” 

“What, did you and father have some nice girl picked out for me? I don’t even like girls!”

Elizabeth strode forward, and slapped Mycroft across the face. “Don’t you dare. Do not insinuate that I would care about that. The man you knew as father wasn’t your blood in the first place.” She spat at Mycroft’s feet. “You’ve thrown away years of work. You have no idea what I’ve given up for you.” 

Mycroft stared at her, stunned. “What?”

“Don’t think you were the only one unhappy in that house.” Elizabeth said darkly. “You think I liked playing the foolish housewife? You think I was raised to ‘know my place as a woman’?”

“What the hell else am I supposed to think? What work could you possibly have for me?”

“I gave up my life for you. My friends, my world. I gave up my ship, my crew to run off to London and marry the first damned noble I could get my hands on so that you could be safe! So that you wouldn’t end up dead like your father!” Elizabeth shouted, pointing at him. “Look around you, Mycroft! You think I could sail this ship on my own if I was no more than a common, dim witted, high society breeder? Use your brain. I know pirates because I was one!” 

Mycroft stumbled to a seat, staring, feeling his whole world crumbling. “Then go back. With me.”

“I can’t,” Elizabeth said bitterly. “I died, nearly eighteen years ago. Or that’s how the story goes. Vanished into the horizon, never came back.” 

“But you didn’t….you… you didn’t even want me, did you?”

“I kept you. I wanted you more than any treasure I had, more than my ship, my crew.” Elizabeth pulled the sails, closing them up so that the small boat bobbed in the waves. She sat down, crossing her legs, pulling a dagger from her boot. “Here.” 

Mycroft took with a trembling hand. He ran a thumb over the name inscribed on it. “My father?”

“Your true father,” Elizabeth confirmed. “He died, was killed in cold blood, just before I realized I was pregnant. So I ran, I had to.” 

“Greg is a good King,” said Mycroft softly.

“How long has your Gregory been king?” 

“Eight years.”

"And the previous King?" 

“I don’t know how long he was King. I only know he was a very bad man and Gregory killed him to defend a friend.”

"He was a very bad man." Elizabeth said quietly. "You and Gregory are lovers than? More than that if you love him. Tell me the truth. Is he good to you?" 

“Yes. He didn’t want to sleep with me at first. I convinced him after we talked, after I assured him I actually wanted him.”

Elizabeth fell silent, long red hair whipping in the wind. "You truly want this?" She asked after a few moments. "You're happy and safe?" 

“Yes. And that friend he saved? He’s the first real friend I’ve ever seen Sherlock make. Please. Come with us.”

"Mycroft, the pirates...they'll know of me." 

“So take your place among them if you want. If not, I’m sure Gregory can find another place for you. He takes good care of his people, Mother.”

“Alright.” Elizabeth sighed, standing. “Get up, you’re helping me sail back. And god forbid anyone stops us before I get to see my other son.” 

“He left today with John to sail around the island.” He moved to help her. “Why… did you have another child if you hated father?”

“Who said he was your father’s?” Elizabeth replied, a twinkle in her eye. 

Mycroft gaped at her. “Really?”

“Yes. Let’s just say there was a reason that your father always kept an eye on the sailors who came to town.” 

Mycroft shook his head. “He’s dead, Greg said. He sent people to look.”

“I’ll not be kept up at night over him.” Elizabeth said, turning the boat around. 

“Nor will I. Is... that why he never sent me away like he wanted to. You?”

“I was able to keep him from sending you off. You being able to control Sherlock a bit helped as well.” 

“He’s happy here. Sherlock. He really is.”

“I’m very glad. Now, back to port so I can properly meet the man who’s stolen your heart.” 

**

Greg paced, head still throbbing. The throne room was filled with pirates, each calling out suggestions and curses in equal measure. “Enough!” He roared, pausing in front of the throne. “There isn’t time. I want every man with a ship out, and searching. Who ever did this will be caught and punished-” The door to the room opened, every head turning with a gasp. “Who is it?” Greg growled, striding down from the dais. “Out of my way.” 

Mycroft stood in front of his mother, figuring Greg would be in a temper. “Sir,” he said, with a slight bow. “May I present my mother.”

Greg stalled, two steps away from the pair, unable to see much of the petite woman behind Mycroft. “Your mother?” he asked, suddenly unsure. “Your mother is the one that took you?”

“Yes. She... had my best intentions.” He took half a step to the side.

Greg stumbled back, eyes wide. “Christ.” The older pirates had all moved back, pressing themselves to the wall, the younger murmuring excitedly. “Mycroft...your mother’s name.” Elizabeth raised a brow, looking pointedly at Greg’s hand as he laid it shakily upon the hilt of his sword. “Mycroft?” Greg asked weakly, skin pale.

Mycroft wondered what was happening. He looked uncertainly at his mother. “Elizabeth?”

Greg shook his head, hand dropping from his sword as he stepped back. “It can’t be.” 

“It is. Captain Elizabeth Finch, scourge of the shores, at your service.” Elizabeth said, inclining her head. “And I am very much not a ghost, so I’ll have you stop doing that, Harrison,” She said, turning to glare at one of the older pirates who was crossing himself and muttering prayers. “Apologies about the head….sire.” 

Greg nodded, eyes going to Mycroft. 

“I didn’t know any of this until this afternoon.”

Greg turned a look to him, and closed his eyes. “Right. So your mother just so happens to be the Red Finch and you’ve just learned that today, when she snuck into port and managed to knock both me and you out, then carry you away, to a ship which I’m assuming she stole from somewhere.” He took a deep breath. “Right,” he said again, spinning around. “The lot of ye, out! Now! Go back to your grog and your women and gods help the man who disturbs me before tomorrow!” The pirates dispersed with speed, acting for all the world like rats abandoning a sinking ship until the throne room was empty but for the trio. 

“I also learned the man I thought was my father and Sherlock’s was not. Either of us.” He moved to Greg. “Are you okay?”

“Been better. Not every day a legendary pirate, one who people still sing songs about, shows up and knocks you over the head.” Greg said, turning to him. “Are you alright?” 

“Now that I’m with you, yes.” He looked between the two of them.

“Well,” Greg took another deep breath. “Ma’am would you care for some rum? I think it’s time to have a chat, aye?”

“I’d love some.” Elizabeth said, giving a grin eerily similar to the one Sherlock used when he knew something fun was about to happen.


	8. Coming Home

“So that’s that then.” Greg said, leaning back, bottle hanging loosely from his fingers. “You just sailed off to London?” 

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, taking a swig of her own bottle before handing it off to Mycroft. “Now, after we’ve had such a lovely chat, I’d rather like to see my other son. When should Sherlock be back?” 

“Not for a couple days,” said Mycroft. “John only took him out this morning.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Very well. I’ll make myself scarce until then. I’m sure you two would like to...reaffirm your bond and I’ve years of drinking to catch up on.” 

Mycroft smiled softly. “I hope you can find a home here, mother.”

“I’m sure I will. After all, who would bother a legend?” Elizabeth said, standing. “I saw some familiar faces in that crowd earlier, and more importantly, a few faces that owe me coin.” She gave a wicked smile. “I’ll be just fine.” She stepped forward and pulled a necklace from the collar of her shirt, tugging it over her head. “This was your father’s as well. You might appreciate it more than you would his dagger.” 

“Can you tell me more about him, later?” Mycroft took it and looked at it.

“Of course, my darling.” Elizabeth leaned forward, pecking him on the forehead and closing his fingers over the chain. “Now, I’m off. Do behave. Or don’t. But wait until I’m gone before any...herrings make a disappearance.” She smirked, and left, shutting the door behind her.

“I think...your mother knows Mrs. Hudson,” Greg said, blinking after her. 

“You might be right.” Mycroft sat down and looked at the necklace. “Did you know her, before? Or my… real father?”

“I know of her, of them. I met her once or twice when I was a child, but nothing beyond running away as if the devil himself was on my heels when she looked at me. God, Mycroft, the tales about her. And your father, well, he was only second to her.” 

“I don’t know anything about any of it. She said the old King killed him.”

“That was the rumor. I was young, but I remember hearing whispers about it, what happened. Your father said something. The king took it the wrong way, had him publicly flogged. They had been friends once, but after that your parents stopped coming ashore as often. Then a few months after, your father turned up in an alley behind the palace, throat slit. No one would be fool enough to do such a thing except the king. As far as your mother, it’s said that when she heard the news, she fell to the ground. Screamed out, her pain loud enough that the earth shook in empathy. The ones who were there swore up and down that she just crumbled to ash. Others said she turned into a flame colored finch and flew away. The truth of what happened, you’d have to ask her,” Greg said, wrapping an arm around Mycroft. “I can’t tell you anymore. There is one thing I remember though.” 

“What’s that?”

Greg met his eyes, cupping his face. “I was very young. And I was out playing in the sea. All of a sudden, a wave knocked me over. I tried to get back up, but another came, and they just kept coming,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t get back up, and I was so frightened. Then there were these hands, pulling me out, holding me tight. The man’s face, it’s blurry with time. But his eyes, Mycroft. They were kind, and soft. A blue like the horizon at midnight.” He paused, wetting his lips. “Just like yours.” 

Mycroft leaned in and kissed him gently. “I suppose my true father was a good man.”

“I’d say so. Even if he was a pirate.” Greg smiled. 

Mycroft hugged him tightly. “You’ve never told me how you came to be here.”

“I don’t know,” Greg replied. “Always just, been here. I had a mother and a father, but I can hardly remember them now. They died. I grew up, surrounded by pirates, raised to be one. I think my first memory is of pickpocketing someone in the square.” He grinned, laying his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. “It’s fine. This place is home, you know? These are my people.” 

“When I woke up, I demanded she take me back here. To you.”

“I may have underestimated you, Mycroft,” Greg said, teasing. “You are utterly fearless.” He raised his head and sobered as he caught the look on Mycroft’s face. “You’re not joking, are you? You really made her bring you back.” 

“Of course I did. This is home.”

Greg shared a soft smile. “Is it now? Why so?” 

“You. Mostly.”

“Well then. Welcome home, Mycroft Holmes,” Greg murmured, leaning forward for a kiss as one hand moved to wrap around Mycroft’s waist, the other cupping his face. 

Mycroft smiled against his kiss, opening his mouth to him in sweet surrender.

Greg chuckled, leaning back and pulling Mycroft atop him. “You amazing creature, how did I ever get to keep you?” he asked quietly, pushing a hand through Mycroft’s hair. “I’ve never known anyone like you. Always something new.” 

“Maybe it’s that pirate part I didn't know existed until five minutes ago.”

“Nonsense. I think you’ve known for nearly two hours. At least.” Greg smiled, eyes twinkling. “Mycroft, I’d like to say something to you. Something I haven’t told anyone, ever before, and it’s important that you keep that in mind.” 

“Yes, Gregory?” Mycroft met his eyes.

“You know what I am. The things I’ve done, the reasons behind them. And you still stay by my side. You don’t flinch when I touch you, you laugh at me, and smile at me. “You are a marvel. A treasure. And you’re mine. And….” Greg trailed off, looking uncertain as he rested his hands on Mycroft’s hips. “And if you’ll have me, I’m yours. Forever. I love you, Mycroft.” 

“I love you too. With all of my heart.”

“Is it mine, Mycroft? Your heart,” Greg murmured. “Say it again.” 

“You’ve captured my heart.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve got mine to replace it.” Greg pulled him down for another kiss.

Mycroft melted into his arms, wrapping himself around Gregory with all the love in his heart.

“Come to bed with me, Mycroft,” Greg said, pulling them up to stand. “Let me show you.”

Mycroft nodded, letting Greg lead him in, closing the door gently behind them.

**

“I don’t want to go back, can’t we stay on the ship forever, John?” Sherlock pouted, dark curls blown back in the breeze as they steered back into port. “Greg won’t mind, neither will Mycroft.” 

“Yes they will. Besides, I don’t have enough supplies for a journey of months on end. We’ll go out again soon.”

Sherlock sighed. “Promise?” 

“I promise.” John ruffled his hair and gave a whistle as they pulled up to the dock.

Sherlock climbed out, hopping onto the dock and nearly falling over. “Hey! That’s so strange.” He grumbled, sitting down. “Are you laughing at me?” 

“Not at all,” John offered him a hand. “It’ll just take some getting used to.”

Sherlock took it and pulled himself back up, stepping forward. “How long does it take? Will it go away by the time we get to the palace?” 

“It might, let’s just take it easy.”

“Fine.” Sherlock scowled.

**

Greg stepped into the kitchen, greeting Mrs. Hudson and Elizabeth. He dropped a kiss to Mycroft’s head, standing behind him at the table. “Sherlock should be back today.” 

Mycroft smiled at him. “Sherlock is going to have kittens when he learns who you are, mother.”

“Yes, I would think so,” Elizabeth replied, sipping her tea. “I’m not at all sure how well he’ll take it.” 

“Probably going to suddenly gain the ability to do a backflip.”

“I hope not,” Greg said. “He’s flexible enough already. 

**

“Come on, John, my legs are fine!” Sherlock said, towing John by the hand as they walked up to the palace. “I want to tell Mycroft everything he missed!” 

John gave a slight frown as he stepped into the kitchen and found a strange redhead and everyone looking rather expectant. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Greg smirked, taking a mug from Mrs. Hudson as Sherlock walked in behind him, pulling bag of rocks from his belt. 

“Mycroft, look what John helped me find,” he started, holding up his collection and looking up at the adults. “Mother?”

Mycroft glanced at their mother, then went to his wary little brother. “Sherlock there’s something you should know.”

“She has a sword, My! And she’s here.” Sherlock hissed, watching her with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Seems our mother is quite the notorious pirate.”

“A pirate?” Sherlock asked, mouth dropping open. “How?”

“Oh, I suppose the usual way one becomes a pirate,” smiled Mycroft, looking up at their mother.

“If she’s a pirate,” Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes. “Then what’s her pirate name?”

“The Red Finch.”

The stones fell from Sherlock’s hands as he gasped with excitement, shining eyes turning to his mother. “Really?” 

Elizabeth nodded, setting her mug down. “Yes, darling.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I’m sure he knows far more of the stories than I do.”

Sherlock nodded, awe apparent in his face. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you get your hands on that book of pirates,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “Come here then, give your mother a hug.” She held out her arms and Sherlock ran over, grabbing her tight. 

Mycroft picked up the stones. "We're going to be all right,” he said softly, smiling as Sherlock began to chatter excitedly to Elizabeth. 

“Course you are. You’re home,” Greg said quietly, coming up and slipping an arm around his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're finished! Stay tuned for a sequel. 
> 
> Thanks to all our loyal commenters and readers, we dearly appreciate it. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> ~Hums

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find us on AO3 at [Janto321 ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/)and [HumsHappily](http://archiveofourown.org/users/humshappily) or on tumblr at [merindab ](http://merindab.tumblr.com)(janto321) and [HumsHappily](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com)!


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